


Carry On My Wayward Pun

by WarMageCentral



Series: Young and Loaded [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Bahorel and Feuilly watch Supernatural, Bahorel doesn't handle it very well, Bromance, Can be read as a stand alone, Feuilly does in fact have a soul, M/M, general sillyness, it's all Grantaire's fault, like woah, they're both big softies really, um swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 03:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarMageCentral/pseuds/WarMageCentral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You and Bahorel should watch Supernatural, they said.<br/>It’ll be fun, they said.</p><p>Feuilly is going to murder his friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carry On My Wayward Pun

**Author's Note:**

> "I will not write another Bahorel/Feuilly fic. I have far too much to write as it is." I whisper softly as I write this at Four AM.  
> I JUST CAN'T LEAVE THEM ALONE!
> 
> So this is part of the Young and Loaded series but can be read as a stand alone? I don't know where on the timeline this would be, probably before they get their tattoos? Ah well, enjoy!
> 
> Sorry for any typos

You and Bahorel should watch Supernatural, they said.

It’ll be fun, they said.

 

Feuilly is going to fucking murder his friends.

 

It all started rather innocently one night when Grantaire came over to their apartment to ‘say hello’ (AKA steal all their food and bum Feuilly’s cigarettes while bitching about Enjolras and mooching their WiFi) and while scrolling through Netflix he let out a gasp of horror, proclaiming, “You claim to be real men yet you don’t have Supernatural on your television? For shame! I’m especially disappointed in you, Feuilly. I thought you’d love watching a show about fellow creatures that have no souls.”

“ _One more_ ginger joke, Grantaire, and I swear I’ll send Enjolras that naked picture you drew of him.” Feuilly retorts and feels a hint of satisfaction when his friend’s usual smirk falls away to be replaced by an almost comical look of horror, much to the amusement of Bahorel who laughs until he literally falls off the couch.

“You wouldn’t.” Grantaire whispers.

“I wouldn’t.” Feuilly agrees, “I’d have it blown up and printed on to a canvas, then hang it up on Enjolras bedroom wall along with a gilded placard reading ‘love, R. Forever and ever.’ underneath.”

Grantaire looks like he’s about to make a witty comeback before looking at Feuilly’s expression - which he has been told can range from ‘very unnerving’ to ‘holy fuck, stop with the _staring_ thing you creepy fucker’ to ‘please don’t kill me. Or eat me. Or kill me and eat me. Please?’ - and saying with a sigh, “Actually, never mind, you somehow _would_ , you fucking mad--” he cuts of when Feuilly stares very pointedly at him and splutters out, “uh, majestic red haired warrior man, you.”

“You bet your balls to a barn dance, he would.” Bahorel chuckles once he is seated on the sofa once more. “So what’s this Paranormal thing about?”

“ _Paranormal?!”_ Grantaire shrieks, horrified that Bahorel would call his beloved show by the wrong name, but clearly relieved by the change of subject. Feuilly also feels slightly better at this; he knows that everyone teases Grantaire about his undying man crush on Enjolras, but after a while it must reach a point where the playful jabs begin to hurt, and this in turn makes Feuilly get upset, which makes Bahorel get angry, which makes Bahorel punch people, which makes Feuilly’s pocket a whole lot lighter after forking out bail money.

So yes, a change of subject is good.

“ _Supernatural_ , I’ll have you know,” Grantaire begins, putting extra emphasis on the title, “Is one of the best series’ to ever grace the world’s television screens. It has succeeded in making me cry from laughter and cry from sadness and made me want to rip my heart out and curl up into a corner and sob for ten years.” Both Feuilly and Bahorel just sort of stare at their friend for a moment, before he shrugs and adds, “Also there’s a really hot demon chick--”

“Well let’s watch it, then!” Bahorel practically roars.

So Feuilly, not knowing what was in store for him and his roommate, opened the first episode on Netflix.

All was silent until a few minutes in when Bahorel shouted, “Ha, there’s a fiery bitch on the ceiling! Don’t know if I really buy into the whole demons and hunters thing though.”

If only he knew.

_If only he knew._

 

 

 

 

 

For a few weeks, life continued on as normal; Feuilly worked and slept and Bahorel, well, _slept_ , but they both took time out of their day to watch an episode or two of Supernatural. Everything was fine, everything was _swell_ , until one day when Feuilly came home from work and opened the front door only to be greeted with water being splashed in his face and a shout of “ _Christo!_ ” from his friend.

“What the _mother_ fuck, Bahorel?!” Feuilly demands, trying to dry his face with a sleeve from his worn Captain America hoodie.

“Sorry, man, just had to be sure.” Bahorel shrugs before walking back into the living room and screwing the cap back on his bottle of--

“ _Holy water? Really_ Bahorel?” Feuilly doesn’t know whether to be pissed at his best friend or worried about his mental health.

“I just had to be sure.” Bahorel repeats.

“Yeah well the last time I checked I was indeed human, fuck you very much.” Feuilly mutters as he fumbles with his pockets for his cigarettes because he is just too tired for this shit.

“True,” Bahorel agrees, “Plus to become a demon you first need to have a soul to corrupt so--”

“One more ginger joke, Bahorel, and you’ll be _begging_ to go to hell before I’m finished with you, I swear to fuck.” Feuilly threatens only half-jokingly before deciding that it’s been a long day and his friend obviously has some issues to sort out and going to bed, thinking that Bahorel will get over it soon enough.

How wrong he was.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eventually Bahorel ceased to assault Feuilly with holy water every time he walked through the front door (but not before suggesting that they both get tattoos that protect them from possession) and Feuilly stupidly, naively, thought it was over.

That is until one day when he comes home and finds himself treading through a thick line of salt on his way through the front door.

“You broke the line!” Bahorel whines almost petulantly, seemingly unaware of the death glares his best friend is sending him.

“I’ll break your fucking face if you don’t cut this shit out, Bahorel! _It’s just a show_. There aren’t any demons or spirits or anything supernatural coming to kill us--”

“That’s what they _want_ you to think!” Bahorel declares, crouching at the front door and fixing the salt line once more.

“Who? The demons?” Feuilly deadpans, still a bit unwilling to believe that he is actually having this conversation.

“Yes, _the demons!”_ Bahorel mimics Feuilly’s incredulous voice. “You have to admit, it all makes too much sense to be purely fictional.”

“That’s probably because they research all the old lore and shit, but it doesn’t mean we have to put _salt in the doorway.”_ Feuilly pinches the bridge of his nose before sighing resignedly. “I’m going to bed, when I wake up in the morning, I want it _gone_ , okay?”

They stare each other down for a moment before Bahorel sighs and says “Fine.”

Feuilly, satisfied with his response, nods and makes his way to his room, before Bahorel stops him with a call of “Um, I wouldn’t look at your windowsill by the way.”

It is at about this moment that Feuilly wonders if it’s too late to find a new best friend.

 

 

 

 

Things at Bahorel and Feuilly’s apartment do return to some semblance of normalcy after that, though they do keep watching Supernatural (which Feuilly admits is both side-splittingly funny and heart-wrenchingly painful at the same time).

It’s only when Feuilly thinks that Bahorel has started acting like the grown-ass man he is, does he come home early from work to find Grantaire kneeling on their living room floor with red paint in his hands.

“Feuilly.” His friend greets him with a smile as if painting someone’s floor is a natural everyday occurrence.

“Grantaire. Mind explaining what the fuck you’re doing to my floor?” Feuilly asks in his most pleasant voice which seems to make Grantaire want to run away crying.

“Well, uh, Bahorel said that he wanted to draw a devil’s trap on the floor..? Said you were okay with it..?”

“Oh yeah, I’m okay with it, more than okay actually, here why don’t I help?” Feuilly, ignoring Grantaire’s startled expression, takes the paintbrush from his friend’s hand and calmly, rationally, snaps it in half over his knee.

He hands the pieces back to Grantaire who stares at his friend in shock before saying, “Okay. Clearly he didn’t tell you. My bad. So I’m just gonna go now…” In less than a minute Grantaire has gathered all of his things and is running out the front door.

“ _Bahorel?_ ” Feuilly shouts as he runs towards his friend’s room and throws the door open, and of everything he expected his roommate to be doing, crying into a bottle of beer and singing along to a Kansas song certainly wasn’t high on the list.

“Bahorel, what the fuck?” Feuilly asks, more than a little disconcerted by his friend’s sudden display of emotion.

“I had my iPod on shuffle,” Bahorel sniffles, “and the song came on and… _feelings_.” He breaks off with a very manly sob.

“Okay…” Feuilly trails off awkwardly, before realising what _the song_ is and suddenly feeling panicked. _He will not cry, he will not cry…_

“Sing it with me Feuilly.” Bahorel almost pleads, clutching his beer like a child might clutch a teddy bear (or like a child might clutch a beer in this day and age).

“No.”

“Please.” And again his big bad muscled tattooed roommate is giving him _puppy eyes_ and handing him a beer, so Feuilly just sighs and takes the beer in time to belt out the chorus;

“ _CARRY ON MY WAYWARD SON,_

_THERE’LL BE PEACE WHEN YOU ARE DONE,_

_LAY YOUR WEARY HEAD TO REST,_

_DON’T YOU CRY NO MORE.”_

Feuilly and Bahorel then proceed to throw their arms around each other and sob in what they assure you is a very manly dignified fashion, and Feuilly just lets it happen.

There’s no turning back now.

**Author's Note:**

> So there was that xD
> 
> I'm still taking prompts for this series so if you wanna see anything please be a dear and let me know  
> my tumblr is warmagecentral if you wanna say hello
> 
> Thank you and goodnight!


End file.
